


A Diverging in the Wood

by WDW



Series: 'A Thousand Natural Shocks' and Extras [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Eldritch Abomination Stan, Gen, an AU of an AU that is an AU of two other AUs, this started off as a birthday gift now it's going to be 10k words and i hate my own hands, wrest power from my hands i am not responsible enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2018-08-11 15:03:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7897240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WDW/pseuds/WDW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon Divergence AU of "A Thousand Natural Shocks" in which Stan doesn't manage to hold it together during Weirdmageddon and another horror beyond human comprehension joins the fray.  Good thing they're on the side of humanity.</p><p>((Features:  all - read: most - of the Stan and "characters who aren't Ford" interactions I couldn't have in the original fic, overprotective eldritch abominations, undignified monster brawls, and a much wilder Ford rescue sequence.  And more!))</p><p>IT'S COMPLETED HELL YEAH [feb 2018]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [embulalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/embulalia/gifts).



> So... this probably explains why I couldn't get the last chapter of ATNS out even though it's been a month or more. In my defense, I kind of don't want it to end... which is why I'm going to play in the verse a bit more, yay!
> 
> Beta'd by Sarielle, who turned this fic from shit into slightly not-shit. The most diddly-darn late birthday gift for @embulalia, who gave me free reign to turn shameless self-indulgence into ten thousand words of fanfiction. Thanks, buddy.
> 
> ((Forgive my choppiness))

The skies had shifted abruptly from bright Oregon blue to shades of red-orange, even deeper and more vivid than just the color of sunlight hitting a patch of particularly awful air pollution. Even without the twin gashes that gaped across the sky and oozed substance of colors beyond the visible spectrum, it was clearly an unnatural landscape.

Stan Pines stared skywards, a hammer and a rotted old sign still held loosely with his fingers, a look of pure resignation on his worn face. He hadn't needed to look to know what had happened, but it helped to see it. In a way. _Just_ for that final kick in the gut.

After all these years, there it was. The memory of shrieking laughter rattled around his mind. He could already feel the telltale dimness of sensation in his extremities.

Stan opened his mouth, closed it abruptly, and checked his surroundings for overly impressionable preteens who could overhear.

 _ **(**_ In another universe -

_"Fu -"_

_"Mr. Pines!"_

_Stan jerked. The voices were distant, high-pitched with panic and fear, but..._ familiar _. Those two girls, Mabel's friends, the ones who've been hanging around the Shack for weeks - and they were running over, he could hear their footsteps thumping on the ground. Mabel could be with them,_

 _And they were coming_ here _._

 _He clutched at his left, uh, whatever used to be his hand in a futile attempt to hide it from view. "C'mon," Stan muttered to himself. "Not right now, just a little while more. Come on, come_ on - _"_

 _A thought burst into their mind from somewhere he didn't know, and then words that made no sense to him were spilling out of their mouth. "Axolotl,_ please _."_

_An odd sensation washed over him, like he had let out a breath he hadn't been holding. Stan stumbled, unused to the feeling of having both feet solid against the ground. He hesitated in confusion for just a moment, but he had never been the kind of person to look a gift horse in the mouth._

_He straightened his back and waved his hands wildly. "Kids, over here!"_

_Several small figures rounded the turn and came into view. Not two,_ three _, but he knew the moment he saw blonde hair instead of glittery sweater that his niece was not among them. Was that… the Northwest girl?_

_"Mr. Pines, there's monsters everywhere!" the big one boomed. The girl in the glasses added, "They are destroying all the buildings! We do not know where to go."_

_The Northwest girl squinted at him with some trepidation, from her position half-hidden behind the other girls. "...Where's Mabel?"_

_"...I don't know," Stan admitted, gut twisting in worry. "She's not with me." He sighed wearily. "Alright, look. I don't know what the he... uh,_ heck _is going on -" A lie, but what wasn't when it came from him? "- but it looks to me like you girls need a place to go. Uh, where are your parents?" "Captured," Mabel's buddies chorused glumly. The Northwest girl flinched, and that was answer enough._

_...Stanley Pines was not an ideal caretaker by any definition, and the number of times Dipper and Mabel got into life-threatening hijinks this summer probably proved it. Not that he was a fan of kids in the first place (at least that was what he was telling himself.) Especially rich little brats who messed with his niece and nephew._

_Not to mention, his whole ticking time bomb issue. They had been granted reprieve, but for how_ long _… well, that was anyone's guess. There had to be someone else in this town more suited to look after kids than a… something turned old con man._

_"Look, girls, I'm sorry, but -" He hesitated. "But -"_

_Three looks of confusion hit him at once, feeling more like physical daggers than anything else._

_Stan swallowed, hard. "You're all gonna have to share the kids' room for now," he said quickly, before logic could chase him down and beat him over the head with itself. "My jerk brother took the couch. But hey, it's pretty big, and unless I gotta fit another dozen people in that old Shack, we shouldn't do too bad on space." He coughed. "Anyways, less blabbing, more walking. You all know where to go, right?"_

But in this universe -

\- there were none.)

Stan exhaled deeply. "Fuckin' _dammit._ "

There was a dull thud and a clatter of wood.

When Candy, Grenda, and Pacifica rounded the corner several long minutes later, there was nothing left to see but the scorched ground and the occasional rainbow-hued bubbles that burped out from its surface. Several unwise decisions later, the three reached a unanimous agreement that the bubbles tasted like strawberry.

 

* * *

 

"Doodly-doo, wandering through the post-apocalyptic landscape, doodly-doo," Soos hummed to himself, carefully peering out from behind his hiding tree for the telltale red beams of the giant eyeballs flying around.

It was almost like a movie! Except he wasn't trying to steal the world's biggest shiny rock, and instead of getting tackled by government agents, getting caught meant being turned into stone and being part of the world's biggest chair. So maybe not _that_ much like a movie.

Maybe singing about what he was doing wasn't the best idea with all kinds of weird monsters over the place, trying to catch people and bring them… somewhere. But it reminded him of working in the Mystery Shack and it kept him calm, and that was the most important thing. That was what Abuelita had said, before she got turned into a really squishy looking chair with a face and everything.

There had been a lot of people running around, screaming and crying, but before Soos could get to them and tell them, "Don't worry doods, it'll all be okay!" they got floated away by flying eyeballs with batwings. Bateyes? Eyebats? ...Hey, that has a better ring to it!

"Making my way through a creepy forest, doo doo." Soos vaguely remembered this particular area in the woods. Back when he was a kid, some of the other guys in school said it was haunted 'cause someone had died there years and years ago. "Feels like something's watching me, doo doo."

One time, he had been dared to go in for three slices of cold cheese pizza. It was the easiest three slices of cold cheese pizza Soos ever got in his life, even though the other dood who went in ran out screaming. The only bad thing was that Mr. Pines made him stand outside the Mystery Shack and finish eating them before coming inside, so he had to start his shift five minutes late. Still worth it.

"Got one."

All of a sudden, a giant green hand reached down, grabbed him around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides, then lifted him up into the air - higher and higher, even above the canopy of trees, until he was face to face with a giant monster face with 8-balls with eyes. Half a dozen giant eyebats converged upon them, each waiting for the signal to shoot their eye beams.

Soos gulped. "This is not cool, dood."

What was the best position to get frozen in for the rest of eternity? There was only one answer to that, but he couldn't get his hands loose to form finger guns. Soos bowed his head and said mournfully, "I have failed you, Mr. Pines."

All of a sudden, he heard an odd sound come from outside the scope of his vision, like a bug slamming into flypaper. It was quickly followed by the increasingly distant, frantic flapping of wings and a final-sounding rustling of leaves.

Soos turned his head, just in time to see a mass of shadowy, spider-like hands - just like in his second most favorite anime, _Quartermetal Philosopher_ \- burst through the cover of trees, latch onto the rest of the eyebats, and drag them down with them into the darkness. Trees that… looked kinda ominous now, actually. Kind of hungry.

There was a kind of creepy silence, since Soos didn't really know what to do - not that he could do much, with a giant hand holding him. But it looked like the monster dood didn't know either. He swallowed hard, only half because he was feeling pretty hungry himself. Man, if only he hadn't left the infinite pizza slice case in the Mystery Shack...

The giant goblin monster that caught him stopped staring at the trees to squint at him suspiciously. "Sorry dood," Soos said apologetically. "I dunno what's going on either. And hey, can you stop holding me so tight? I'm getting all sweaty and man, you do _not_ wanna touch me when I'm sweaty."

The monster knotted its eyebrows and opened its mouth as if to grunt something in reply - and _howled_. It spasmed and waved its hands around wildly while hopping up and down, one foot at a time, just like what Soos did whenever he stepped on a Lego.

"Woah, watch out dood!" Soos yelped as the grip around him loosened and suddenly disappeared. He hung desperately onto the open palm for a minute or two, suddenly very aware not just of how far away the ground was, but of how many sharp pointy branches lined the way down.

But he hadn't been exaggerating before, he _was_ getting kinda sweaty. His hands slipped just a little and just like that he found himself falling, the air whistling past him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw why the 8-ball dood was hurting so bad.

The same small dark hands from before were crawling their way up the monster's legs. Every place they touched began to melt and dissolve, kind of like what happened when Abuelita poured salt all over the slugs that ate up her roses. Now, he could see that the trees were shaking on their own, the wood of the trunks split to make mouths with sharp teeth and drool that bit eagerly onto anything they could reach.

In the split second before he hit the trees, Soos gulped nervously.

He felt branches break under him and, a few seconds later of falling later, saw them regrow over the Soos-sized hole in the canopy he had made. It felt kinda like jumping into a pool, without the water. Or the pool. Or the jumping. Man, metaphors were _hard_.

The forest was entirely dark, which was weird, because the sun was out and the sky was on fire because of the whole end of the world thing. It hadn't even been this dark when Soos was walking through it, just a few minutes ago. Then, there had been some sunlight poking through the top of the trees before. Now, not so much.

This wasn't even a normal dusky kind of darkness, like how the sky looked around dinner time. This type was thick and solid, the kind that covered up the whole world outside the windows whenever he woke up from a nightmare at three in the morning.

Soos could feel it on his skin, cool and tingly. It smelled a little like fabric softener.

The good thing was, the trees didn't try to eat him. The only weird thing was that their branches shifted and turned a little so he fell through more of them than he would've otherwise, which helped a little because he was falling kind of fast and even though Soos prided himself on being soft and cuddly, it would hurt a lot to hit the ground - which was coming up pretty fast. Aw, man.

But just a few feet away from breaking bones, something cold and smooth grabbed onto the back of Soos' t-shirt and hung on tight.

"Oh," Soos said slowly, trying to turn his head as much as he could. The mass of black hands squirmed in response. "Um. Hey doods? Please don't ruin my shirt. Mr. Pines gave it to me a long time ago and I only washed it a few times since, just so I could preserve the Mystery Shack magic, so, uh. It would really suck if you guys melted it. Or me. Heh, I probably should've said that first, huh?"

The hands let go. Soos plopped onto the ground, in a way that his butt kind of hurt from hitting the grass but nowhere else.

It took him a minute to realize that he had landed on something, and he reached down a hand to pick it up. The felt was rough but terribly familiar to his fingers, and Soos realized dimly exactly what was in his hands.

He picked himself up gingerly and squinted into the dark woods. There was no way out - both ends of the path had become shrouded in shadows and any kind of exit or entrance was impossible to see. A burning gaze fixated on his back, but when Soos turned around to look, there was nothing left to see but a fading glimpse of pale green light.

Distantly, the screeches of pain ended with a literal whimper. Soos decided not to think about what happened to the monster who had grabbed him up. Or those eyebats that got dragged under the trees. Or what was going to happen to him if he couldn't get out of here.

"Mr. Pines?" He asked aloud, holding onto the fez tightly with both hands. "Are you in here? You, um… you dropped your fez."

There was no reply. Soos chuckled nervously into the darkness. Man, this was just like that show he binge watched last weekend, _Weirder Stuff -_ which made this kinda cool, but also bad because people died. "I might've, um. Squashed it with my butt." He paused. "Mr. Pines, if you don't want your fez anymore, can I have it?"

"It's coming out of your paycheck, Soos."

The forest rustled. Soos whipped around wildly, looking all over because even though the voice sounded really whisper-y and just a little distorted, like it was coming through the radio, it had the _exact_ amount of old man grumpiness to be Stan's voice.

"Are you out there, Mr. Pines?" Soos asked the trees around him. Something heavy and slippery slid over his shoe and disappeared before he could react.

There was no reply. He thought for a moment and tried again. "Mr. Pines, did you say I can have your fez for free?"

"Keep dreaming, kid."

The voice sounded a lot louder now, around actual talking level. Something moved in the shadows, much bigger than a person. A lot more limbs than a person too.

Suddenly, something - _or a lot of somethings,_ Soos thought, remembering the hands - yanked Stan's fez out of his slack grip. He lunged forward to grab it back, but it was gone too fast.

The forest lit up dimly with dozens, hundreds of pale green dots, like fairy lights that followed him as he moved. Now that Soos could see around him a little bit, he found his eyes drawn to the slumped figure that leaned against a toothy-looking tree a few meters away, head lowered, looking sadly at the deformed red pancake of felt in its hands.

The words came out automatically. "I'm really sorry about your fez, Mr. Pines."

"Don't sweat it," Stan said. His voice sounded hoarse and a little bit strained. When he looked up at Soos, a wry smile on his face, his eyes were glowing green. If Soos didn't know it was Stan, he would have looked kind of creepy since the rest of him was faded and monochrome like Abuelita's old pictures. "Probably shouldn't have left it lying around on the ground like that."

"So…" Soos started tentatively.

"Nope, it's still coming out of your paycheck. This thing's inherited, y'know," Stan muttered distantly, like he was thinking about something else. " Gonna cost an arm and a leg to get it looking right again."

"Woah," Soos exclaimed with the appropriate wonderment. Man, if it was inherited, then that meant that if Stan ever gave him his fez, he would really be part of the family! Then, almost as a second thought, he asked, "Hey Mr. Pines, did you get affected by the weirdness magic? Your eyes are glowing."

"...Uh, maybe. Well. Not exactly," Stan admitted, looking a bit uncomfortable. Soos could see right through him now, and not just metaphorically, which was kind of worrying. "Tell ya what, Soos. It's a long story. And, uh. This place isn't really the safest place to be. Honestly, we were gonna just let you pass through, but… well, we weren't about to let Bill's sidekicks make off with our best handyman."

Soos grinned. Stan's best handyman! ...Though, he was Stan's _only_ handyman too. "Is there someone else with you, Mr. Pines?" He asked curiously. "You keep saying 'we.'"

Stan swore, for the first time since the kids moved in for the summer. "It's, uh, hard to explain. But it's just us in here - I mean, just _me_ , but..." He shook his head. "You can't stay here, Soos. It takes a lot of self-control for me to keep this going. But the Shack is protected against… all this stuff. So how about you head on over, tell the kids that we're - going to take a while. And let our brother know that… "

Stan was quiet for a moment. "...Actually, tell him that -"

"They're not in the Mystery Shack, Mr. Pines," Soos said awkwardly. "I was actually just out looking for the little doods, and that was the first place I checked. There's some other people hiding in there but not Dipper or Mabel. Or the other Mr. Pines. So I guess they're out in town somewhere, wandering the post-apocalyptic, monster-filled landscape. If they didn't get taken away by the flying eyeballs."

He paused. "Oh, man."

There was a loud crack of wood, like a few dozen branches had snapped at the exact same time. "...Are you okay, Mr. Pines?" Soos asked tentatively.

Stan was quiet, staring into the distance with a kind of scary look on his face. When Soos looked at him really hard, he saw some kinda freaky stuff instead of Stan - kind of like those pictures that looked different depending on the angle. But it was okay because he had been helping Stan with his girdle for years now, so he was pretty used to seeing stuff that would make regular people lose their sanity.

 **SOOS?** Stan asked, except he wasn't talking, not really.

"Yeah, Mr. Pines?"

**THERE'S SOMETHING WE NEED YOUR HELP WITH**

 

* * *

 

Dipper held onto Mabel's hand tightly and wished he never had to let go.

Being separated from his sister for the past few days had been bad enough, but almost losing her to Dippy Fresh and a perfect dream world had been almost unbearable. But even though they were still technically in the middle of the apocalypse and Great-Uncle Ford was still Bill's prisoner, for the first time in days, he felt like things would be okay. He had his sister back. Everything else was secondary. They would face them together, just like they did all summer long.

Ahead of them, Soos sang softly to himself as he unlocked the door to the Mystery Shack. Behind them, Wendy kept an iron grip on her axe. _If there's anything that apocalypse training has taught me,_ she had said back when they had first reunited, _it's that nothing stands up to more than a few whacks of this thing._

"Hey Soos," Dipper asked tentatively, taking advantage of the rare moment of quiet. "You said Grunkle Stan told you to come out here and find us, right? How come he didn't come look for us himself?"

The question had been in his mind for a while, but with all the walking and hiding from monsters, it had never seemed like the right time to ask. Even when Dipper had been wandering the town alone, he had rounded every corner hoping to see a glimpse of Stan's black suit or red fez. It meant… safety, like things would be normal again, even if he knew Stan couldn't do much against all the monsters flying around or even Bill himself, not like what Great-Uncle Ford could do with his cool looking sci-fi laser (though that hadn't been much, in the end.)

Mabel tensed with worry. The tinge of guilt in her expression was subtle enough that anyone else would have missed it. "Is he hurt?" She blurted out, clutching at his hand just a bit tighter. "Did Stan get taken away by Bill's monsters?

"Nah, doods," Soos said quickly, then held the door open as Dipper, Mabel, and Wendy ran in as fast as they could. "Mr. Pines is doing great! He's just busy fending off the bad guys who get too close to the Shack. Also it's kind of hard for him to move around now, so he stays in his room mostly."

" _Now?"_ Mabel squinted in confusion. "Did Stan get caught in a weirdness bubble or something?"

Dipper shuddered as his imagination immediately went to places it shouldn't. What would an anime Grunkle Stan even _look_ like? And he didn't want to think about the bird head bubble he and Wendy had gone through.

Then, curiosity hit. "...Wait, fending off? Like, by punching?" Stan's punches had been great taking down the zombies from that one time, but somehow he didn't think Bill or the other guys had the same weakness.

"Just a sec, doods. Gotta let everyone know the coast is clear!" Soos knocked twice on the door frame. "Hey everyone, it's me, Soos!"

The Shack was quiet for a bit. Dipper glanced around, but the place seemed completely empty.

"Password!" Came a sudden high-pitched whisper, barely audible, from somewhere far enough that he couldn't quite pinpoint from where it came.

"...Sorry doods," Soos said after a moment of scrunched-up, concentrated thought. "I kinda forgot. Gimme five minutes."

"Soos!" Dipper hissed, aghast - which was kind of mean, but he hadn't eaten anything other than a few bags of chips for _days_ and he had been looking forward to a shower. 

Suddenly, every door slammed open with several loud bangs that made him jump. A veritable flood of people, manotaurs, gnomes, and various other creatures poured out (read: fell out) from anywhere from rooms to closets.

"Wait, you didn't even give them a password!" Dipper protested, a moment before the tide hit.

"Oh," Soos chuckled good-naturedly. "Dood, that _was_ the password. Pretty smart, right?"

He opened his mouth to say something - because this was the exact _opposite_ of a smart idea, really, what would everyone have done if monsters _had_ gotten into the Shack? - only to be cut off when several figures rushed and pretty much jumped on him and Mabel. Before either of them could react, they were both being hugged, so tightly they could barely breath.

"Argh, Mabel, Dipper, I've missed you so much!" Grenda bellowed, sounding choked up despite the volume of her voice, each arm holding a Pines twin to her body. Candy stood behind a little after the initial round of hugging, along with a pink-faced blonde girl in a potato sack dress who could only be -

" _Pacifica?_ " Dipper gasped at the same time as Mabel, though his outburst was a little less outright excited than it was completely disbelieving.

"...Yeah," Pacifica muttered, not meeting their eyes. "Look, it's not like I _want_ to be staying in this rundown shack. But… I don't have anywhere to go, alright? All the other buildings in this town got taken over by monsters. I mean, this one did too, just not the kind that's going to _eat_ me -"

The rest of her words were cut off when Mabel returned her earlier hug and practically lifted her off the ground with the force of it. "I'm glad you're okay!" She exclaimed.

Pacifica turned her head in a way that Dipper couldn't see her face. "...Yeah," she said slowly with an odd tone in her voice, like she was trying to sound reluctant or mad but really couldn't. "I was worried when - I mean. I'm glad you guys are safe too."

 

* * *

 

In the end, Dipper noticed the absence first. He swallowed the mouthful of protein bar. "Hey Soos, where _is_ Grunkle Stan anyways? I thought... he would be the first one down to see us, now that we're back," Dipper asked, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice.

The Shack sounded a lot more muted than it did a couple minutes ago, as if everyone else had started speaking a lot quieter the moment Grunkle Stan got mentioned.

Soos jerked in realization. "Oh man, that's what I forgot! Sorry doods… I don't know what came over me. Mr. Pines is gonna be so mad that I didn't tell him that I found you guys the second we came in."

"But - didn't Grunkle Stan hear us come in?" Mabel asked, concerned. "Everyone else did, right?"

"Oh, yeah. Mr. Pines is probably - sleeping." Soos scratched at his chin. "It takes a lot to wake him up. He gets really grumpy when I do it, but I don't think he'll mind it this time. C'mon doods, let's go upstairs."

The stairs of the Shack were mostly the same, other than a few cracks in some steps that Soos said came from before Stan set some house rules. Apparently they weren't built to hold up manotaur weight. There were mattress pads and blankets scattered all over the floor, which made sense - there wasn't enough room in the Shack otherwise. Everywhere else looked pretty much normal, though.

Grunkle Stan's room, on the other hand, felt different. Dipper got the creeps just looking at it, even with Mabel at his side and Wendy standing behind them, a hand on their shoulders. The shadows that reached out from underneath looked almost like outstretched hands. The wood of the door bulged outwards, as if it was holding something in. Even the scattered temporary beds kept a careful distance away.

Soos knocked on the door, a sharp double rap. "Mr. Pines, I found Dipper and Mabel!" He said loudly. "...Oh yeah, Wendy's here too, and she wanted to know if the literal apocalypse counted as a valid excuse to not come in for work."

A long minute ticked by. "Did… Grunkle Stan hear you?" Mabel said slowly, a bit of worry entering her voice. "Soos, are you _sure_ he's okay? How long has he been in there?"

"Well, it's been at least two days since I started wandering the wastelands -"

Dipper paled. " _What?_ "

"Mr. Pines just needs some time to get himself together," Soos said reassuringly. "Besides, don't let him know I told you, but he's been falling apart without you two. Heh." He paused, as if he had just made a really bad joke. At the lack of reaction from everyone else, Soos seemed to come to a realization. "Oh yeah. There's something I should probably explain before -"

The door to Stan's room slammed open. A single gnarled hand came into view, holding unsteadily to the wooden frame, followed by a familiar black-panted leg.

Dipper stared with wide eyes as the rest of the figure stumbled out. There was the expertly tied western bow, the sharp cut of the Mr. Mystery suit, but there was something _off_ in the jerkiness of the figure's movements, like a marionette on strings. And when Dipper looked at what should be Grunkle Stan just a bit _too_ hard, there was something else there entirely.

Not-Stan looked stunned, then hopeful, then horrified. He shut his eyes almost immediately after the realization, but it was already too late - Dipper already saw everything he needed to see. 

"No, wait, it's - it's _me_ , kids," the thing in front of them said quickly. "Your Grunkle Stan. We - know I don't really look like it right now, and I dunno how to prove it to ya, but… we can explain everything."

He and Mabel took an instinctive, fearful step backwards, holding each other's hands like that was enough to stave off the physical nightmare in front of them.

"Just… trust me."  Not-Stan pleaded.  " _Please._ "

Dipper faltered. The amount of raw emotion embedded in that single word felt more real than anything he could see in front of him. But it was more than that too.  Wendy made a choking sound behind him, but Dipper felt like he had been transported back to somewhere else entirely. Somewhere dark and cold, the chill of steel underneath his fingers as his sister held the fate of the universe in her hands and -

_Everything I've worked for, everything I care about… It's all for this family._

His Grunkle had pleaded back then, begged with an odd note in his voice that Dipper had never heard before. There was genuine fear there, a real exhaustion, and… just a tinge of helpless defeat, little enough that he could have imagined it.

(It hadn't been enough for Dipper then - nothing had been enough to convince him to trust Stan again until after the old man had explained that he had done everything just to get his twin back. Because… that was something he understood. It was something he understood more than anyone else.)

Now, he heard that same desperate note again.

With stunning clarity, Dipper knew that he had a choice to make. But unlike before, it took him no time at all to come to a decision. He didn't have to look at Mabel to know that she had done the same.

"Dipper?" Her voice was barely a whisper, nearly inaudible despite the suffocating silence. Mabel didn't have to say more for him to know what she was asking.

(His sister's voice, high and clear above the roar of wind.

 _Grunkle Stan, I trust you._ )

Dipper nodded, the only answer he needed to give. A beat later, he and Mabel were running forward, arms outstretched, the same cry leaving both of their mouths.

" _Grunkle Stan!_ "

Under different circumstances, Dipper would be embarrassed at the wetness prickling at the corners of his eyes. At least no one was seeing him except for Soos, Wendy (... _oh no_ ), and Mabel, who was doing the exact same thing he was except for a lot more crying.

"Wait, kids, don't -"

There was a split second of cognitive dissonance as Dipper put his arms around what should be Stan's gut and felt something else entirely. But just as quickly, he felt rough suit fabric bloom into existence to replace it - and under that, something warm instead of the numbing cold, reassuringly solid under his fingers.

A moment later, defnitely-Stan bent down onto both knees with a wince and swept them both into a hug, on his own terms. "...Hot Belgian _Waffles,_ " he muttered, clearly stunned at the new development himself. But he held onto Dipper and Mabel tightly, as if he was afraid they would disappear if he let go.

"It's the end of the world, Grunkle Stan," Mabel said primly. "If you want, you can say one bad word in front of us. But just one!"

Stan let out a strangled laugh. "I don't need it right now, sweetie. Maybe later."

"Um, so…" Wendy said slowly, taking a careful step forward. "I don't want to be that person but… What happened, exactly? Because I know what _I_ saw and I know what I'm seeing now, it's just kind of hard to put the two together. No offense."

Soos shrugged. "To be honest, dawgs, I don't really get it myself. I'm not too great at explaining stuff either." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Mr. Pines said he got mixed up with something really freaky. Kind of literally, too. But that was a long time ago, like _years_ , and they worked something out. So, uh, they're kinda the same person now."

There was a long silence as everyone took in the new information. "Man," Wendy said finally, and gave a deep sigh. "First I miss Stan's secret twin brother coming back from another dimension, now this? This is _so_ unfair."

"I said I would explain later, didn't I? Now quit blabbing already and get your butts over here." Grunkle Stan muttered, shifting slightly so he could hold his arms wider.

He refused to meet anyone else's look of disbelief. "Look, hugs help out with the whole corporeality thing. That's all. But, uh, this is a one time offer, you two, so don't expect - _oof_ ," Stan wheezed as another two bodies slammed into him, hard.

Dipper's legs started burning after a while standing in the awkward half-kneeling position, but he didn't want to move. None of them did, not even to reposition themselves from what was probably the worst arranged five-person hug in existence.

Finally, Mabel broke the silence. "Wait… so does this mean we have another Grunkle? Or just _extra_ Grunkle?"

"Mabel, does that really matter?" Dipper asked incredulously.

"I need to include _everyone_ in the annual family reunion invitations, Dipper!"

"Pumpkin, just go with whatever option that gets us more of your dad's banana cream pie," Stan muttered, eyes still clenched shut. "But uh, speaking of Grunkles… where is my jerk of a brother, anyways? There's one or two things I gotta tell him too, before things get crazy."

"Um," said Dipper. "Right when Weirdmageddon started, Great-Uncle Ford said he had a plan to beat Bill. He… kind of tried to shoot him, but he missed. Bill turned him into a golden statue and burned all of Ford's journals. He's been Bill's prisoner ever since."

There was a long silence.

Stan sighed. "Mabel, sweetie... I think I’m going to use that bad word now."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm a doo doo head  
> take this
> 
> for my long waiting friend, em 'let me yiff in peace' bumblesnatch
> 
> [Let's see what's up with Ford!]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw torture, suggested past character death
> 
> fun for the whole family

To Stanford's complete lack of surprise, hell was freezing cold.

Though a revolutionary discovery to be sure, he had doubts it would stand up to any reputable academic committee. The main issue was, his current location was more accurately described as "Ford Pines' Personal Pyramidal Hell" than the classic Judeo-Christian equivalent. That was, traits of demons present were more "horns and cloven feet" than "sixty-degree angles."

Unfortunately, that fact narrowed down the field of concerned individuals significantly. To two, actually - him and his fellow captive, the rather perturbed looking child (?) dancing frantically in a cage hanging from the ceiling. Not Ford's oddest roommate experience, but it did make top five.

It was just one of those days. Weeks? Months? Extra-temporal periods of existence?

 _The worst part about the death of linear time_ , Ford thought to himself sadly, _is the language involved._

He hung there in his chains for a moment that could have been a minute or a year, or anything in between. Not that it would have mattered. There was the occasional squeaking and click-clack of tap-dancing from above, but nothing here changed or grew or learned. This was _his_ personal hell, after all.

Then on a day that could have been any other, a massive black hand reached through the opening to the chamber.

A moment afterwards, the rest of Bill Cipher followed through, folding out like a model ship in a bottle. His single large eye stared Ford down with evident glee.

"Heya, Fordsy!" He chirped. "How's it _hanging_?"

Bill snapped his finger, and a deafening rimshot echoed throughout the room. Stanford stared back at him blankly, his tongue limp and leaden in his mouth.

The demon let out an exaggerated sigh. "Tough audience, huh? Man, I miss the good ol' days. Just you, me, a meddling research assistant to drive insane, and a world-ending interdimensional portal to build.

You would've laughed at my jokes _then_ ," he said sulkily. "Heck, you would've done anything I told ya to do. Anything for your blessed muse - right, Sixer?"

Ford made no reply. There was a dull metallic taste in his mouth, his mind felt dazed and woolen, and there was something inexplicably funny about - well, _everything_. Who had come up with the interior design scheme for the Fearamid, anyways? Was being a fan of neon rainbow highlights another black mark on the long list of Bill Cipher's sins?

Somewhere on the fringes of Ford's awareness, Bill Cipher narrowed his eye in realization. He poked Ford with one smooth, black finger. The old man shifted slackly in his chains. "Oh, _come on_. Don't tell me I messed up on rewiring a few synapses or 7,283! How am I supposed to torture answers out of you if ya get to duck out of the consequences?" His glare turned thoughtful. "...Don't suppose you have anything to share about the barrier around this hick town _now_?"

Ford might not have been in his right mind, not anything close to it, but he knew there was only one way he could respond to that.

"No," he muttered hoarsely. His throat felt sore and his voice came out in a rasp, like he had been using it a lot recently. "Not to you."

"Oh, what a pity!" Bill said, his cheerful tone making it clear that to him, it was anything but. He snapped his fingers with obvious relish, the sound echoing sharply across the otherwise empty chamber.

Sensation rushed into his numb limbs, bringing with it the burning chafe of chains and a bone-deep exhaustion that washed over him with all the force of an ocean wave. He could hear a dim ringing sound in his ears now, and Ford swallowed down a sudden burst of nausea. His entire body felt like one unholy amalgation of bruise and electrical burn.

The briefest of moments later, so came logical thought. Bill was here, in front of him, for the first time in... a while. Their last meeting had ended especially - _brutally_ , which explained Ford's previous - _condition_.

The most logical reason for the demon's long absence was that, at that point, Bill must have realized that torture by itself was pointless.

Which meant.

Bill would not have returned if he did not have new information, new bargaining pieces, new -

The list of reasons with which Ford could be convinced to bargain at all was short. Specifically, it was limited to three people. The thought of any of them in the clutches of the malicious, capricious chaos god before him chilled him to the core.

There was nothing funny about his situation now, not anymore.

"Why are you here, Cipher?" Ford asked with forced calm, every bit of restraint he could muster used to keep the dueling emotions of fear and fury from his face. "What do you have planned? You know that I -"

Bill let out a shriek of laughter. "You wound me, Sixer! Why can't I just have a nice conversation with an old friend?" The creature leaned closer, eye shining. "Geez, does everything have to have an ulterior motive with you?"

"There is no conversation I want to have with you, Cipher," Ford said shakily, voice barely a whisper. "Do not mock either of our intelligences by pretending I was anything _close_ to a friend to you."

"Eh, friend, unwitting pawn…" Bill waved a large, spidery hand with calculated nonchalance. "Po-tay-toh, po-tah-toh. Don't be so sensitive, pal!"

"You have held me captive, kept me in chains, have tortured me to the brink of _death_ -"

"Brink of? ... _Ooh."_ The triangle winced exaggeratedly. "Oh right. I never told you!

"...W-what?" Ford asked hesitantly, before logic chased him down, pushed him to the ground, and poured a cold bucket of regret over his head and down his shirt. "No, actually, I don't ="

"Yea-ah, about that last part - tell ya what, _Fordsy_." Bill batted his eyelashes. "I've decided to turn over a, hah, new _leaf_. Call it making up for having you wait for so long!"

"I said I don't -"

"It's honesty hour here in the Fearamid, folks!" The triangle flung his hands up and out, practically beaming despite a lack of a mouth or real facial features. Glowing confetti burst from the air and scattered all over the landscape.

Then just as suddenly, he was close - too close, his solid black pupil inches away from Ford's flinching face.

"Oh, don't pretend like you're not _INTERESTED_ , Sixer! You've always been a real smartypants, but I _KNOW_ you've got mysteries ya can't figure out. So, HOW ABOUT IT? A little secret to start with, just to give omnipotence a test run?"

There was no doubt for Stanford that - whatever Bill was building up to - was not something he wanted to know. His tongue had already gone instinctively to the roof of his mouth, ready to form the harsh consonant sound of the 'no' that he wanted to, _had_ to say.

But there was a dangerous glint in the demon's single eye, one that made it clear that his question was no question at all.

He sighed. There was a time and a place for everything, and 'enraging a chaos god' was no exception. He still had no idea where or how Dipper and Mabel were. (Or Stanley.) His pride was not worth the safety of his family.

"Fine," Ford said blandly, determinedly keeping all emotion from his face. He refused to give Bill the pleasure of watching him squirm. "A little... _secret_."

Even without a mouth, Bill gave off the distinct impression of a smirk.

"Weeeell," he drawled, spinning his cane casually. With no apparent process of transformation, he was suddenly dozens of times smaller than before, around the size he maintained in Ford's memories of past dreams. "So. I, uh, miiiiight have taken it a bit too far a time or two with _these_ things."

Electricity sparked around Bill's raised hand in demonstration. Ford flinched back instinctively.

"Y'know. Used a little too much juice, sizzled an organ that shouldn't have been sizzled. Beginner's mistake."

Bill shrugged nonchalantly and stretched out his thin arms in placation. "Hey, but I fixed ya back up, didn't I? Even made a few tweaks, free of charge!"

Ford stared at him silently, expression slack with slow dawning horror.

"What's with the long face? Focus on the big picture here for once," the demon said crossly. "You're alive! C'mon, no thanks for your favorite muse?"

No, this had to be another trick. Gods knew how many of those Bill Cipher had up his metaphorical sleeves. He was trying to - unnerve him, shake him, get him into that precarious mental place where he might actually be thrown off enough to make the mistake Bill had been waiting for all this time.

And the worst part was, it was _working_.

Already, his thoughts were going places where they shouldn't. Was resurrection even something Bill was capable of? How did that interfere with existing processes for death and life, if they even existed?

And yet... it would make a great deal of sense. Not only did Bill have little to no concept of human limits in regards to survival, Ford highly doubted he cared - not if he had a way of circumventing his mistakes. And, given that most of his own memory consisted of pain and occasional flashes of blue light, there were more than enough gaps in it to draw... damning conclusions.

But… if Bill was telling the truth, what did that mean for _him_?

Was he just a copy of a copy, ad nauseam, of an original, deceased Stanford Pines? Or was he just a reanimation, not much different from a simple -

Bill was looking at him now through a single half-lidded eye, both hands resting on the handle of his cane, his stare uncomfortably knowing. "Well, Sixer? You, of all people, should know how much I hate it when people make me _wait_."

As if struck, Ford straightened his back suddenly - and heard, disproportionately loud to his ringing ears, the familiar crackle of aged paper.

Like breaking through a trance, he held one trembling hand to pat the general location of his heart, and there it was - that slightest resistance pressing reassuringly against his chest. It was still there. Despite the decades, despite whatever had happened to him in his current captivity, it was _there_. He blinked rapidly, trying to dissipate the burning at his eyes.

And just like that, his previous concerns were wiped from his mind.

Ford let out a breath. Of course. He had been being ridiculous.

Bill would not have known about the tattered photograph he kept hidden under his clothing, strapped to his chest - nor would he have understood the significance of it.

Therefore, if Ford really had been remade in a way that departed from who he was before, into something Bill _wanted_ him to be... then the picture would not have the same effect on him. It certainly wouldn't have _this_ effect on him.

"I'm disappointed, Cipher." Ford's voice sounded distant to his own ears. "That bit of information is a waste of omnipotence. But then again, perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised - you also made the decision to tear down the walls between dimensions, effectively end an entire universe, and for what? To have a _party_?"

Bill bristled, visibly affected by his gibe. "I'll have ya know, Sixer, we've got more time punch here than any other point in existence. This ain't just _a_ party, bucko! It's _the_ party!"

"You're right," Ford said hoarsely. "I _am_ an idiot, Bill."

His captor turned slowly, single eye open in pleasant surprise and baited anticipation -

"But not because I trusted you." He wetted his mouth. "I'm an idiot because I thought you were _ever_ worth worshipping."

The triangle demon was quiet for a long, long moment.

Regardless of exactly how long it went in linear terms, it was definitely enough time for Ford to review his words and mentally curse himself for mouthing off. There was nothing Bill could do to him that he hadn't done previously. But with his family's survival in the balance, it was an extremely stupid move of him to push an already erratic, capricious creature into -

"Well," said Bill slowly, "well, _WELL_."

There was a note of deep anticipation in his voice, obvious even as the volume of it climbed to deafening levels. "GOOD OL' SIXER, HUH? I _knew_ there was a reason I liked you more than the other fleshbags. Always jumping the _GUN_. And here I thought you'd APPRECIATE the build-up! BUT HEY, I SURE DON'T WANNA KEEP YA WAITING!"

He snapped his fingers and the chains holding Ford up disappeared suddenly from around his limbs. There was a heart-stopping second or two of freefall as the world around him blurred and reformed -

\- then he landed, inexplicably enough, on what looked to be an oversized therapy chair that - he noticed blearily - matched the neon color scheme of the Fearamid.

Ford lunged forwards on an instinctive attempt at escape before bands of eerily glowing blue substance shot out from the handles and wrapped themselves around his wrists, holding him tightly in place.

"LEMME TAKE A WILD GUESS, SIXER! All ya wanna know about _now_ is how that squishy little family of yours is doing." Bill sat on a stool next to the chair, squinting at a little notepad and pencil he held in his hands. After a moment of deliberation, he burnt them both in blue flame. "BOOORING! WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE GUY I USED TO KNOW, HUH?"

" _You_ did."

Bill ignored him. "I can't even interest you in the solution to the Hodge Conjecture? What about the Computational Theory of Mind? You're KILLING me here, FORDSY!"

"Either tell me what happened to my family, or -"

"Or?" The triangle asked in anticipation, leaning forward. "OR? Tell me, Fordsy, what exactly _is_ it that you wanna do to me? Got another dimensional gun hidden up your sleeves? A muicide detonator strapped to your left ankle?"

"Or bring back the _chains_ ," Ford spat. "I'm tired of your games, Cipher. I know what you want from me, and no amount of sidestepping will make me forget it."

Bill leaned back again. If Ford didn't know better, he would have said he looked disappointed. "Oh, don't give yourself a heart attack, Sixer - _that_ doesn't come for a few more decades! 'Sides, honesty hour's still on, and what with me killing linear time, you've still got…" He checked a watch-less wrist. "...eternity!"

Ford licked his stinging lips. There was no question that he had to play along. Especially with Bill dangling his family's fates in front of him like this. There was no doubt that there was something unsaid - something that the triangle was positively raring to share.

He thought through his words for a long time.

"Are they hurt?" Ford asked at last, still wary, unwilling to even consider the other alternative. Dipper had the Journals with him, though in hindsight, giving those books to him was a decision Ford deeply regretted - it was the equivalent of a bright red target on his back. And Mabel had been _outside_ when Weirdmageddon had began, lost somewhere in the woods (and there was another burst of guilt there, because he shouldn't have done… that. Why did he possibly think it would have ended well? This was the second time he had made the exact same mistake.) "Are they… safe?"

"Oh," Bill said dismissively, "Pine Tree and Shooting Star are just _fine_. From a certain point of view! But they're alive and breathing and doing everything you humans do… just a whole lot less of it."

Ford jerked forward, a movement aborted by the thick bands of cosmic material holding him down. The triangle waved a placating hand. "I'm _kidding_ , Sixer! Geez, talk about not bein' able to take a _joke_! They're both holed up in that Shack of theirs, and I _have_ to say… real good job on the unicorn hair barrier. Very…" His voice darkened. " _Clever_. But you always were, weren't you, Fordsy?"

Realization dawned. "...You can't see inside the Shack at all, can you?"

" _Never tried!_ " Bill exclaimed, and Ford knew he wasn't imagining the fact that the dream demon had responded a little too quickly. "Bunch of dinged up humans, huddled up and marinating in their own fluids like time sardines in a can… can I say _booo_ -ring?"

Despite his best efforts, Ford sagged in relief. For all his age and near-omnipotent knowledge, Bill was at his core a childish being. His family _was_ safe, hidden away in the Shack. Maybe powerless, unable to fight back at all against the extradimensional creatures rampaging through the town… but alive and uninjured - because if they were otherwise, Bill would certainly have mentioned it.

"Hey, what's with the hurry?" Ford blinked in slow confusion. "Aren't ya forgetting someone, _Sixer_?"

Bill shrugged. "Actually, can't say I'm surprised! I mean, you sure have had a lot of experience forgetting about him in the past -"

Ah. Ford frowned. "My brother is safe in the Shack," he said coldly. "Try another one, Cipher."

No, there had been no forgetting involved. Just the simple fact that the kids had been in direct danger and therefore, had been at the foreground of Ford's panic. Stanley, on the other hand, had been inside the Shack the last Ford remembered, and at any rate, could not have gotten far enough from shelter in the few minutes before the start of Weirdmageddon to be in any real danger.

And... while his brother made indubitably unwise decisions, he doubted that even Stan would casually venture out into the post-apocalyptic wasteland.

(...without reason. Which meant, unless the kids had not made it to the Shack immediately and Stanley had noticed their disappearance. Or unless... no, it was stupid - but then, this was _Stanley_ \- his brother had gone outside to look for _him_ -)

"Sounding a bit _too_ sure there," Bill remarked, leaning back and swinging his black cane in one fluid motion. "But you've been doing some assuming over there, haven't ya? And... we both know what _that_ does - don't we, Fordsy?"

 _He wants me to ask him_ , Ford thought distantly. _He wants me to ask him about_ Stanley _._

There was an obvious answer to the question of 'why' - his brother had been captured, or injured, _or_. But he also understood - as much as anyone could, really - the spiteful polygon of overgrown immaturity before him, enough to know that there was something more here. Bill wanted to _enjoy_ this game, and he was drawing it this long to make up for -

"Well?"

Ford, on the other hand, was sick of playing games. "Cut to the chase, Cipher. What did you do to my brother?" He demanded, rising as much as he count against the binds holding him down to the cartoonishly oversized therapy chair.

"What an accu- _sation_! _I_ haven't done anything, Sixer." Ford flinched, despite himself. "...For once. Nah, Fordsy, the question you _should_ be asking is, what has your brother done to _himself_?"

"I don't understand," he said carefully.

"Oh come _on_ \- you're smarter than this!" Bill bemoaned, sounding almost disappointed. "You spent ten years in this dump of a supernatural hot spot, you _know_ what kind of things are lurking about in its corners. You knew what you were getting into - oh, don't give me that look, I _saw_ your cute little handwritten guide on fae technical wording." Ford flushed red. "Stan-o, however…"

His tone turned contemplative. "All _that_ knucklehead had was one of your little cryptid diaries and good ol' fashioned _desperation_. And we both know how dangerous _that_ is in Gravity Falls - don't we, Fordsy? How many things out here would be all too willing to take advantage?"

"My brother isn't an idiot," Ford said flatly. "He wouldn't have fallen for the tricks of - creatures like you. He's better than that."

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure - you know what they say about birds and feathers! Tell me, Fordsy - how _has_ your brother been, since you've made it back? Does it feel like coming back home? Or… "

Bill prodded at Ford's chin with his cane, a thoughtful look in his single eye. "Is he _different_? Not how you remembered him? A - stranger?"

"It's been thirty years," he said dully, leaning his face back and away as much as he could. "People change. He changed. _I_ changed."

"Oh, is that all it is?" Bill exclaimed in mock-surprise. "Or is that just what you're tellin' yourself?"

Ford was quiet.

"C'mon, Six Fingers. I know all about your habit of lying to yourself, but this is ri- _di_ -culous. Before this summer, you haven't talked to - heck, _seen_ \- your brother for forty years. And that hour of beating the crud outta each other doesn't count! What's the difference to you between Stanley Pines and some guy off the street, huh?"

Ford refused to meet his eye. "You wouldn't understand," he muttered raspily. The demon went still. "You've never had a fami -"

"I don't _NEED_ to understand!" Bill said loudly - shrieked, really, his one eye wide, as if he was shocked at his own vehemence.

"...No, y'know what, Stanford? I think _you're_ the one who doesn't understand. In fact, I think there are _plenty_ of things you don't understand. ...Good thing I'm here to get you up to _speed_."

The triangle's physical size hadn't changed - at least, not by Ford's own reckoning - but now, he _loomed_ , his single unblinking pupil narrowed into a nearly imperceptible slit.

"Don'tcha know? Your _real_ brother hasn't been around for a very _, very_ long time, Fordsy."

"...What?" It sounded lame and ridiculous the moment it left his mouth, but there were no words that could be used for the current stunned confusion of Ford's mind. "I don't -"

Bill sighed once, for obvious effect. "Lemme tell ya about an old - _pal_ of mine. Seems a bit _overdue_ for an introduction, considering what they've been up to for the past -"

Then, just _then_ , there was a deafening crunch.

The entire Fearamid shook in a massive jolt of movement. Several chunks of glowing extraterrestial building material cracked off and fell haphazardly from the ceiling, and Bill went abruptly quiet as he dodged to the side to avoid a hit to the eye.

Distantly, Ford heard the sound of demonic screeching and - human shouting?

Bill blinked once, slowly and disbelieving. Then, he _swelled_ , growing twice - thrice - a dozen times his original size, bright crimson red and glowing like a supernova, his eye a glaring gold on black.

" **WHAT IS IT _N̮͍̠̠͓̻̝͖̬̗̅̄̂̽̀̂̓͊̍͠O̴̪̬̪̬͍͈̐̂̎̌̍̒̿͜W̶̭̹̝̟̱̑͆̉͑̿̇͋̕ͅ_?"** he demanded to no one in particular, bass voice loud enough to vibrate the leather under Ford's fingers.

The pseudo-therapy chair dissolved like mist, but a massive and inhuman black hand grabbed Stanford from mid-air before he could even mentally register the lack of physical reinforcement underneath his body.

He flinched. Around the two of them, the world distorted and reshaped itself into a room he had long mentally associated with the crackling of pain through his limbs and the odor of burnt cloth ( _and hair, and flesh, and -_ )

The walls had holes in them now, brutish and irregular, and through them Ford could just barely catch the occasional blur of fast-moving color beyond them. Color, and something he simply could not make out for the life of him.

Bill hummed in thought, vibrating like a naked wire. "... _Huh._ Would ya look at that?"

"P-please." Ford hadn't realized it was him who had spoken before his mouth was already open and he was babbling again, words rolling down his tongue and spilling out despite himself because who _else_ in this damn town would storm the stronghold of a chaos god? Who else but - " _Bill_ , please, don't do anything to them -"

"Looks like Truth or Dare's gonna have to wait a few," the demon said, tone light as a feather. Dimly, Ford realized he could see himself in Bill's huge dilated pupil. His reflection's mouth was open in a silent scream. "I've got a rebellion to crush into bonemeal! And who knows… Maybe I can find myself a Shooting Star or a Pine Tree, and then _you_ can finally start making some Independent Decisions - starting with, choosing which one of 'em gets to take your place!"

His fists landed uselessly on the smooth black surface of Bill's cartoonishly simple hand as Ford struggled in his grasp, screaming and shouting and shaking, barely registering the telltale movement of air across his face that meant Bill was moving elsewhere.

Then, somewhere on the fringes of his awareness, he registered the clink of metal - then, the loosening of his bonds as Bill deposited (dumped, really) him onto a hard surface.

Within seconds, Ford had flipped onto his feet. He immediately lunged at the bars that held him back, his six-fingered hands futilely clawing at the huge unblinking eye staring at him in amusement, just a few inches away from his fingertips.

"Calm down, Fordsy," Bill admonished with a sigh, voice loud over a stream of obscenities that had never before been uttered on the surface of this particular version of Earth. "That heart attack creeping on isn't supposed to happen till you're 92, remember? So why don'tcha sit back, make a new friend, and I'll bring your family right back to ya - just like you wanted!"

"If you hurt them," he said hoarsely, "if you touch a single hair on their heads - I don't care what I have to do, what I need to bargain with -"

Bill shrieked with ear-splitting laughter. "Birds and feathers, Stanford!" He exclaimed cryptically, and - unfolded, for lack of a better word, his single eye bursting into flame and a dozen legs emerging from his now pyramidal frame. By the time Ford could react, Bill had already clambered through and out of one of the larger cracks like some oversized demonic arachnid.

He stared forward for a moment, one hand still loosely holding the metal bars of the hanging cage, adrenaline draining as quickly as it had came and leaving behind aches and strains in its wake. Ford felt sick, nauseous, a burning sensation somewhere in his throat that felt nothing like 500 volts of electricity yet hurt just as much.

There was nothing he could do but wait, wait for the world to end because he would not watch those children suffer for his mistakes.

It was… quiet now, without Bill's deafening voice and his own screaming in his ears. Just him and his thoughts, the latter of which were so deafening that he would not be surprised if they had somehow crossed into physical reality.

...As well as, he realized slowly and dimly and with more than a little confusion, the sound of expert tapdancing.

The sound of expert tapdancing, coming from… approximately two feet behind him?

Ford turned around. After a brief moment of quiet confusion, he looked down.

The dancing figure - short, squat, and inexplicably clad in a sailor suit - let out a terrified squeal.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be longer but its already 5k+ and i figure if i wait longer it would never come So Here It Is, i'm sorry


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet y'all thought you've seen the last of me
> 
> THIS WAS NOT THE FIC I MEANT TO COMPLETE BUT I AM NOT COMPLAINING
> 
> *wipes face* i can't believe i published one chapter each in 2016, 2017, and 20 fucking 18

It was… some sort of human child, a young boy of around Dipper's age, albeit clad in a navy blue sailor suit and wearing one of the most ridiculous wigs Stanford had ever seen.  ( _Was_ that a wig?  It felt intrusive - not to mention utterly untimely - to ask.)  He seemed positively poleaxed at Ford's appearance, pale even accounting for the baby powder that dusted his face.  Other than that initial fearful noise, he was quiet.  

Most interesting of all, the boy was dancing rapidly without pause or the slightest hint of error, as if his legs were acting independently of their owner.  Which, given the circumstances, was more than likely.  Bill's doing, no doubt, but from the look of things, with only the smallest amount of magical will exerted.  Not easy to reverse, but it was possible.  

Ford took a step forward, raised a hand, and - the boy cowered back, staring intensely at the appendage as if it would suddenly lunge out and bite.  

He winced.  Ah, yes.  Boundaries.  Well, boundaries, and the fact that his - rather aggressive personal behavior over the past few minutes had guaranteed an utterly terrible first impression.  Yet, he had no time or patience to waste on long, pointless introductions.  

"Boy," Ford said gruffly, "I know a counter spell for that compulsion curse on you.  If I may…?"

"A-Are you really - I mean, yessir!"  The boy blurted, staring at him with some strange mixture of awe and fear and confusion.

When it came down to the basic components, all magic was a kind of science - or the other way around, really, since they were concepts that defied the limiting vocabularies of humankind and any language that directly matched words to set meaning.  Stanford had never truly considered himself some kind of 'wizard' or 'mage' (...alright, maybe once or twice, but in his defense, he was young and he had always -) but _yes_ , he could cast a few spells.  Conjure a small conflagration or two, which had been useful beyond the portal.

 _"Non amplius saltare_ ," he chanted carefully, and knew from his companion's slight squeak that his eyes had started to glow.   _"_ _Hoc liberum animum!_ _"_

The effects were not immediate - after all, it was less a direct attack on Bill's control and more a subtle sabotaging of its foundations, creating enough weakness that the victim's own thoughts and desires could peek through the demon's compulsion.  

Within several seconds, however, the rhythmic click-clack of tap-dancing began to audibly falter, becoming increasingly sloppy and weak as the boy struggled through his last few steps.  The moment Bill's compulsion wore off, he dropped to his knees to huff loudly for breath.  

Ford looked on in sympathy.  Evidently, the magic had come with the knowledge and superhuman accuracy for the ongoing dance, but none of the extra stamina needed to comfortably dance for hours or - even days, because who knew how long his fellow prisoner had been here?

Before him, the boy peeked up at him and opened his mouth to speak - or rather, _tried_ to, because he immediately broke into a series of hacking coughs.

"Take it easy," he cautioned, raising a hand for emphasis.  "You can ask questions later -"

"I - I can't believe it," the boy wheezed, shakily holding up a stubby finger. "You really _are_ the Author of the Journals!"  

Ford stared, a sense of d[ éjà vu ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/D%C3%A9j%C3%A0_vu) creeping over him.  Exactly how many children had gotten their hands on his top-secret, life-threatening, demon-summoning, supernatural research?  "You've - read my journals?"

The boy looked between his face and at his six-fingered hand with watery eyes.  "I, I never thought that I would meet the brilliant unknown author in my lifetime!"  

"Oh!"  He couldn't help but smile, helplessly pleased.  "Well, I'm glad to meet a fan of my -"

"Why, I don't even know what to say…"  The boy clenched his fists, eyes practically sparkling in excitement.  "Without your journals, I would have never been able to gain access to such impossible knowledge, such - _breathtaking_ power!"

 _...Oh._  Ford coughed uncomfortably, his smile turning strained.  

"I'm… glad my journal was of help to you," he said carefully, trying his best not to let the statement come out as a question.  As ominous as that last bit sounded... at the very least, this boy must've been an enemy of Bill Cipher to be a prisoner here.  Right?  "...What exactly was your name again?"

"Gideon Gleeful, sir!"  His companion beamed, a surprisingly disturbing sight, and extended his hand in a motion smooth enough to rival his brother's.  

"It's… good to meet you, Gideon, though these circumstances could certainly be better."  Ford bent down on a knee and shook the proffered hand.  "My name is Stanford Pines, and - yes, as you have surmised, I _am_ the author of -"  

He paused and raised an eyebrow.  "...Are you alright?  You look slightly… flustered."

Indeed, the boy had turned an alarming shade of white and… was starting to tremble?  

"S-Stanford - " He croaked.  "Stanford _Pines_ , you say?"

"Yes?"  Ford asked in confusion, before the realization hit.  "Ah.  Perhaps, you're more familiar with the man who stole my identity?"  Gideon brightened slightly.  "That would be my twin brother, Stanley.  I believe he's been running some kind of - tourist trap for the past few decades?"  

The noise Gideon emitted sounded like the mixture of a sob and a balloon deflating.  "A-And my beautiful Mabel, and that _horrendous_ \- ah, I mean... Dipper…?"

Stanford had never put much stock in gut feelings - not until twenty-two years ago, when they had saved him from a Subterranean Furred Wyrm on the lost planet of Tixchenfanuh.  The short, squat child before him was no ravenous eyeless beast with fur covered in the blood and viscera of its victims, but he had a feeling that there was something dangerous about him nonetheless.

He frowned.  "Dipper and Mabel are my nephew and niece, yes.  They are both very, _very_ dear to me.  And you…"  

A spark of hope.  "You know them?"

Gideon looked deeply troubled.  He seemed to have aged several decades over the course of the conversation.  The expression of mild agony on his pudgy face was familiar, not unlike that of a naive young college student who had just discovered Edison was a fraud who robbed the _true_ innovator of his generation of the title of being _the man who changed the_ -

...Anyways.

"I, ah, may have -"  The boy licked his lips, and absentmindedly wiped a drop of sweat that had been making its ponderous way down his face.  "Run into them… a coupla times.  Here and there, y'know how it is in this town -"

"Have you seen them since Weirdmageddon started?"  Ford demanded immediately, kneeling down to put both hands on the boy's shoulder.  "Either of them?  Even if it was just a glimpse -"

Gideon twitched.  "M- _maybe_ -"

The emotion that rushed through him at that instance was indescribable.  There was joy, first and foremost, mixed with a relief that left him breathless with its force.  But reality reared its ugly head almost immediately.

"Are they alright?"  Ford asked fiercely.  His hands were shaking entirely out of his control, and Gideon shook along with them.   "Were - were they together, at the very least?  How did they seem?  Where - where were they, what were they -"

"Yes!  No!  I don't know!"  The boy squeaked, his face wobbling from the force of it.  "Sir - Mister Author - I must insist that you let me _go_!"

The outburst startled Ford right out of his daze.  He jolted his hands back and away, and after a brief instance of guilty hesitation, held them behind his back.  "I must apologize," He said, voice distant to his own ears.  "I... got very ahead of myself."

Gideon said nothing for a long moment, to his great relief.  "The two of 'em were alive," he said at last.  "They weren't together, the last I saw 'em.  But... I dare say they are now."  

What he tells Ford afterwards is at once unbelievable and entirely expected.  

From it, he is able to piece together the rough sequence of events that had taken place after he himself had been... removed from the equation, more or less.  Dipper had gotten away from Bill's cronies, even after Ford had practically pinned a glowing red target onto his back by leaving his journals and the burden of agency with him.  He had evidently found his allies, if the mention of the redheaded teenager and not-gopher man were any indication.

And now, despite being a twelve year old boy alone at the end of the world, Dipper Pines was out there roaming the Weirdmageddon landscape - braving monsters and the destruction of everything dear to him to find his sister.      

Ford had never felt so proud in his life.  Or so worried.

(He tried to swallow it down.  Dipper and Mabel were smart, capable -

\- _twelve year olds_ .  Oh, _Gods_.)

"Mabel had been captured," he said, thinking.  "Dipper had gone to break her out of her prison."  A flash of hope.  "You didn't - you didn't happen to see my brother at any point, did you?"

Gideon shook his head.  Ford sighed.  That... was fine.  He really shouldn't have expected anything more.  

"Then... Hm.  Where exactly do _you_ come in during this entire sequence, Gideon?"

The boy's face flushed a particularly vivid shape of purple.  

Ford furrowed his brows.  It was not meant to be a criticism, truly.  With the specific effort and care Bill had put into torturing Gideon, Ford had no doubt that he had defied the monster in a way that dug particularly deep.  As far as he was concerned, that in of itself was reason to be incredibly proud.  Even if said defiance had lead directly to a truly regrettable amount of pain.

"W-well," Gideon stuttered, trying to look everywhere except at Ford, "I just - happened to be along the way, I suppose, on the side of the road with a coupla friends of mine and... our massive monster trucks.  That we happened to have with us."

"Yes, that sounds entirely logical," Ford agreed with a nod.

"And when I saw a quite threatening horde of creatures racing past - with whom I have no connection at all, of course - li'l ol' me was quite overcome!  But when I noticed who they were chasing after -"  The boy swallowed, hard.  "My g-good _friend_ , Dipper Pines!  I realized, why, I couldn't just do nothing!"

Ford stared at him.  Gideon stared back, a terrified grin on his face.  

"Ah," said Ford softly.  "Now I understand what happened."

"Y-you do?"  The boy squeaked.  

"You sacrificed yourself for them, didn't you?  Stalled Bill's cronies so Dipper and his allies were able to reach Mabel's prison?"

"No!  I mean, yes!"  Gideon looked distinctly uncomfortable.  "That's -"

"You saved the lives of my niece and nephew, and you went against an evil beyond all human comprehension to do it."  Ford let out a breath.  "I realize you do not understand the true magnitude of what you did, but to defy Bill Cipher in such a way - it is something to be very, _very_ proud of.  And... it is also something I must thank you for."

"Hhrck."

Ford put a hand on the boy's shoulder in reassurement. "That was a very brave thing you did, Gideon," he said gently.   

Gideon looked as if he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  He stared at the hand on his shoulder like it was a live wire.  

When he spoke, however, his voice was firm.  "No, Mister Author, it really wasn't."  

There was something about his words that made Ford draw back, despite himself.  Before he could even begin to puzzle out what the boy had meant, the wall blew in with a thunderous _boom_.

And with it, came the sounds of the outside world.  Particularly, he could hear the loud crashing and crunches that came with particularly vehement destruction, and an earsplitting, inhuman shrieking that made him nauseous on a metaphysical level.  Vaguely, he could smell the sharp, pungent aroma of ozone and - fabric softener?

" _Grunkle Ford!_ "

It was Mabel's voice.  It was _Mabel's voice_ and Ford would have wept from joy from sheer relief if not for the equally terrifying realization that his niece was now n Bill Cipher's personal palace of a hell pyramid, in the midst of what seemed to be an extremely dangerous revolt.  With the same sinking feeling, he remembered that Bill had explicitly promised to punish her and her brother for every one of Ford's mistakes.

And now she was here.  She was here, looking for _him_.

Ford looked down, down at her and Dipper as they stood side by side.  He told himself that he should be furious, terrified, guilty, all of it and _more_ at once.  But the sight of the kids - so small, but with those unmistakable looks of Pines determination on their round faces - brought with it such a wave of joy that he could not help but be swept along in its wake.  

One of Mabel's fists was comically enlarged - she must had punched right through that wall - and it was with a jolt of astonished pride that Ford realized that she must have harnessed the size-changing crystals hidden deep in the forest as an entirely brilliant weapon.

His mouth felt dry.  He didn't know what to say, because there was so much he wanted to do - to admonish, to babble for joy, to somehow grab them both into a hug despite him being about fifteen feet off the ground.

Fortunately, Gideon held no such reservations.  

"Mabel!  You came for me!"  He squealed, rattling at the bars of the cage.

"Grunkle Ford and uh... _Gideon_?"  Dipper said blankly.  He looked far less happy to see his friend than Ford would have expected.  "Don't worry, we'll get you out of there right now!  McGucket, are you ready?"

_McGucket?_

Something shiny and metal flashed through the air, cutting through the glowing blue metal of Bill's cage like a hot knife through butter.  A second later, before gravity could even hope to register its force, Mabel's hand plucked the entire thing out of the air and brought them gently to the ground.

An old man with a cartoonishly long, white beard and some kind of - prospector's outfit? - leapt into view with surprising agility and struck at the cage's door with an expertly aimed pickaxe.  It must have hit true, for the door swung open immediately.

"Success!"  The old man crowed, and did a little dance.  "Why, I dare say that even glowin', demon-created thingamajigs stand no chance against some good ol' fashioned, state school funded scientific inno _vation_!"

Ford staggered out of the cage, feeling each and every one of his recent - and not so recent - injuries at once.  Somewhere to his left, he heard the surprised shouts of a few dozen humans turning from stone to flesh as Bill's throne came apart.  

Despite that, despite it all, he couldn't take his eyes off the person in front of him.  "Fiddleford?"  He whispered.

"Grunkle Ford, I'm really sorry but we don't have a lot of time!"  Dipper pulled at the sleeve of his arm, a look of panic in his eyes.  "We need to get out of here before -"

He swallowed down his fear, his confusion, his dozens of stalled questions.  They were right, there was time for explanations after they escaped.  

But there was just one thing.

"Bill's after the two of you," Ford said urgently, glancing around them frantically as if the demon in question could be hiding behind a particularly big piece of rubble.  " _Personally._ You need to hide, he can be back any moment -"

"No, it's okay!"  Mabel piped up with a reassuring grin.  "Bill's totally distracted right now and trust me, Grunkle Ford, we'll _know_ when he's not anymore.  All we need to do now is to get out of here!"

He hesitated for one long moment.  There were still so many questions that he still had, and he wasn't quite sure if it was the right move to place his complete and utter trust in the word of two twelve year olds - brilliant, amazing niblings or not.  

But if there was one thing he had learned in his thirty years surviving in the multiverse was that while talking was important, running was even more so.  ...And when it came down to it, though often forgotten, running _and_ talking was an entirely valid choice as well.

"Yes," he said, and let out a deep breath.  "Alright."  

It was at that very moment that something large and purple came flying through the hole Mabel's fist had left in the wall, hit the ground with a guttural bellow of discomfort, and skidded several meters with a long squelch.  The creature let out a particularly pathetic whine.  With the trajectory of its flight, it was obvious that something had thrown it through.

"Um," said Ford, rather blankly.

"Run!"  Dipper urged again, and this time they actually did.

Straight into Bill Cipher's glowing eye.  

In the split-second Ford had to react, he put an arm each around his niblings and dove to the right, ignoring their yelps of surprise in favor covering them with his body the best he could.  Certainly, he knew that an extra layer of flesh meant nothing to a murderous Bill, that if anything, it would be more of a bonus than a setback to the demon.  But this wasn't about logic at all., not really

...Nothing happened.  No laughter, no pain, no dark fingers pulling him up into the air by the collar of his coat.  

No Bill.

He looked up, and froze.

There was something else occupying Bill's attention now, something dark and formless that hurt his eyes to see.  Within it he could see every color and no color at once, and while it - whatever it was - had enough physicality to wrestle Bill down to the ground and rip off chunks of his body with its shifting appendages, Ford was absolutely stumped on how to describe any bit of what he was seeing.  

On some surface level, he could see that there was something there, something that - if he squinted and didn't think too much - could theoretically exist.  But the moment his eyes attempted to focus on one spot, the illusion was broken into a million, billion incomprehensible pieces.

It... was twisting the space around it, melting the walls of the Fearamid and twisting Bill's ill-thought design choices into something that was without thought entirely.  As if this monster and Bill were battling it out not just physically, but over their respective holds on reality.  

The thought was a terrifying one.  

"Don't worry, Grunkle Ford!"  Mabel chirped, pulling him forwards and away by his arm, her cheerful tone belying the sharp urgency in her eyes.  "They're with us!"

Ford stared at her, aghast.  "They're _what_?"

His voice echoed loudly in the sudden quiet of the Fearamid.  It was, as Mabel would say, "just one of those things."  

Because at that moment, despite the havoc being wrought in nearly every other part of the Fearamid, despite the inhuman screeching and deafening sounds of two very large monstrous beings throwing each other around, Ford's exclamation had hit that exact second of lull in background noise that made it incredibly, terribly audible.

Bill and the thing he was fighting with turned to stare Ford down as one.  

Almost immediately, the expression in the triangle demon's single large eye shifted from angry frustration to an especially vicious brand of anticipation.

" **FORDSY!** "  He crowed, his voice booming and guttural.  Clearly, his new terrifying form possessed equally large and monstrous lungs.  " **JUST IN TIME FOR THE FAMILY REUNION!** "

Half a dozen of Bill's many hands shot out towards them, swerving and circling like birds of prey descending on a family of mice.  They came not quite as quickly as a speeding bullet, but Ford found that he was just as helpless to react before them.  

Dipper and Mabel's shrill screams echoed hollowly in Ford's ears, and he had never felt more like a failure.  

Almost immediately, however, the dark skin of the limbs began to ripple into shining bubbles, melting like wax under flame and dripping down splotches of greasy black that writhed like living things.  Then, they began to break off with cracking sounds and smacked wetly onto the ground, and -

\- Bill _howled_.

It was then, in this split-moment of hard-earned distraction that Bill's opponent surged forwards and outwards in a movement that hurt Ford's eyes to think about, and sent them both crashing through another faded neon wall and - thankfully - out of view.

Ford pushed himself up slowly, unable to turn his eyes away from where the two monsters had been.  It was just him and the kids now.  Everyone else must have kept running on in the time Ford had cowered on the ground, he realized uncomfortably.

Bill's words rung hollowly in his ears, repeating itself until they ran together like static.  

 _Family reunion?_ Dipper and Mabel were right here, Bill had been able to see them as clearly as anything.  Which meant he had been referring to something - some _one_ else entirely.

"Kids," he said, words sticking in his throat and sounding strange to his ears. "...Where's Stanley?"

They froze, looking at each other and then at him with an identical expression of awkward discomfort.  A weight settled itself deep in the pit of his stomach.  

"Is he," Ford tried, and could not finish the sentence.

"Stan's fine!" Dipper assured with a wave of his hands, but there was a suspicious nervous quality to the way he refused to look Ford in the eyes.  "It's just, um.  It's kind of really complicated."

 

"Is he back at the Shack?" He demanded.

The boy sweated visibly.  "N-no...?"

A pin-drop could have been heard in the dead silence that followed the statement.  

"He came up with this foolhardy plan, didn't he?"  Ford asked, narrowing his eyes, and the nervous look the kids shared with each other was answer enough.  "That - I should've _known_ only someone like him would think this could be a good idea in any way.  Did he come in with you two?  Is he -"

He paused, struck by the horror of his own question. "...Is he still _in_ here?"

"Grunkle Stan wanted to meet us outside afterwards," Mabel offered, uncharacteristically meekly.  "He said that -"

"He wanted to -"  Ford stopped in his tracks.  "That hotheaded, _self-sacrificing_ \- This is Bill's domain!  He controls every square inch of this place, he knows _exactly_ where Stan is.  And... if not now, then soon enough.  Whatever ill-thought plan he has in mind, it's not going to work!"

"Um, Grunkle Ford -"

Ford let out a raspy breath, and cast a furtive look around him before he knelt down on one knee to look at his niblings on equal ground.  

"Dipper, Mabel, you two need to follow everyone else and leave this place, as quickly as you can.  I - "  

He sighed.  There was some part of him that couldn't believe he was doing this.  He was the only person on the planet with any hope of stopping Bill, and so he was risking much more than himself by jumping back into the metaphorical flames.  And yet...

"I'm going to go find my brother," Ford said, with a certainty he couldn't quite feel.  "I understand that you have faith in your Grunkle, and I am sure that he reassured you that he has everything in hand.  But leaving him behind and trusting him to escape on his own... if I must be truthful, that is the equivalent of a death sentence."

Mabel and Dipper stared at him in twin expressions of shock, and he knew without a doubt that they were a few seconds away from protesting loudly and energetically.  He didn't expect anything less.  Ford held up a hand to stall them.

"We'll be fine, kids," he lied.  "It is just as you two have told me.  Bill is distracted, and I've been in here for long enough that I can navigate myself with some level of skill."  He smiled as reassuringly as he could, which was not much considering how hard his heart was hammering away in his chest.  "Now, where was my brother, the last time you saw him?"

The two of them were quiet, looking at each other desperately as if waiting for the other to talk first and explain.  

"It's - kind of a long story, Grunkle Ford," Dipper said slowly.  "And, um.  You're not gonna find Stan and escape while Bill's distracted, because, well -"

" - because Grunkle Stan's the one who's been distracting him, this whole time!"  Mabel finished brightly.  "Surprise!"  

Ford blinked.  "He's - what?"  He repeated.  "Are you telling me that he engineered the fight between Bill and - that thing -"

"Um, well," Dipper stuttered, "in a way?  Because that's, well..."  He winced.  "That _is_ Stan."

"So don't call them a thing!" Mabel admonished, a look of disappointment on her face.  With that sharp expression directed at him, despite himself, despite everything that was logical in the world, Ford felt a hard twinge of guilt.  "That's Grunkle Stan, and he's trying his best!"

"I really don't understand," He said blankly, with the distinct realization that he had absolutely no idea what was happening.  "If that really is Stanley... what happened to him?  Why is he - like _that_?"  

"Stan didn't tell us for how long exactly," Dipper said uncomfortably, "but... he's been - like that for a really long time.  The only reason he actually looks like this is because of Weirdmageddon.  Since all the weird things in Gravity Falls started coming out of hiding, so did... um, the rest of him.  Them.  But the point is, Grunkle Ford, he really _does_ know what he's doing!"  

He blinked.  "Dipper, this is _my brother_ you're talking about," Ford said blankly.

The boy paused, putting a finger to his mouth in a pensive expression.  "Uh, yeah.  Good point."

"But, the rest of - _them_ , you said earlier,"  Ford prodded.

Dipper made a face.  "It's really complicated," he said again.  " _Everything's_ really complicated.  But Grunkle Ford, we _really need to get out of here_ before Bill comes back and - "

They did.  They really, _really_ did. Dipper and Mabel's impromptu explanation had raised far more questions than answers, but as long as Ford accepted their declarations entirely at face value, he could form most of a coherent narrative - albeit one completely structured on the apparent fact that his brother was now a reality-twisting, eldritch abomination that existed mostly outside of human comprehension.  

And - maybe he can accept most of that, just for now, because Gods knew he had seen stranger out there in the multiverse.

Most of, because there was just one glaring hole that had remained untouched and unexplained.  One that, Ford feared, had already been answered.  

"Did Stanley ever say how he was planning to escape?"  He asked, voice sounding distant to his own ears.  

Because keeping Bill distracted was only a stopgap.  Because by all appearances, though the two were currently equally-matched, they were still very much in Bill's domain, amongst Bill's allies.  Because with all that in consideration, Ford couldn't think of a single way his brother could 'meet them outside afterwards,' not without being pursued immediately by an incredibly furious, homicidal demon.

The kids were quiet.  Ford could practically hear the pieces clicking in their heads.

Because - his brother _wasn't_ planning on escaping, was he.     

...Dipper and Mabel didn't know.  Stanley hadn't told them, of _course_ he hadn't, because he had been planning on leaving Ford to deal with the aftermath, in every sense of the word.

It was then that he heard a familiar shrieking laughter behind him, increasing in volume and excitement with each thunderous step its owner took forward.  

Bill, alone.  And _approaching_.  

Two facts that pointed to a variety of possibilities, none of them at all good.  

"Kids, you have to go.   _Please_ ," Ford begged, holding their small hands in his own, clasped in his own personal prayer.  "If Bill finds the two of you, that's all the more advantage for him.  Your Grunkle Stan and I - we can hold our own against him, believe me."

"But only when you two are _together_!" Mabel interrupted, a steely look in her eyes.  "You'll remember that, won't you, Grunkle Ford?"

He nodded.  It was the only thing he could think to do.

And then Mabel and Dipper were off and running, the sound of their small feet slapping on the ground growing more and more distant until he couldn't hear them at all.  Ford let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, despite the knowledge that a triumphant victory was nowhere closer than it ever had been.  At least the kids weren't in harm's way.

"Still here, Fordsy?  Why, if I didn't know better, I would have thought you were WAITING for me **!** "  

Ford turned around and looked up - and even higher still.  Bill loomed over him, clearly taking pleasure in his vastly additional height.

"How's the weather down there, Sixer?"  The demon crooned, and Ford flinched.  "You want a lift?  A bit of a boost?  We both know that we're overdue for a.... _conversation_ , and why not have it FACE TO FACE?  I've got five to choose from, y'know!"

Bill gestured proudly at his new pyramidal form, evidently waiting for some kind of reaction.  At Ford's blank expression, he narrowed his single eye.  "Eh, options are overrated anyways!"  He exclaimed, and snatched him up with one of his many appendages to bring him up to his eye.  "So, where _are_ those LITTLE RASCALS of yours?  Don't tell me you sent them off before the party even started!"

"They're gone, Bill."  Ford hung in the monster's grip, completely aware that if Bill decided to let go right now, he wouldn't be much more than splatter on the neon paved hallway of the Fearamid.  Despite that, or really _because_ of that, he refused to look down and give Bill the pleasure of seeing his fear.  "It's just you and me."

"Nuh-uh!"  The triangle corrected, with the exact inflection of a five year old on the playground.  Altogether, not a particularly inaccurate description.  "Sure, if the brats got away, then they get away - FOR NOW!  But just the two of us having quality time together - what's the fun in _that_ ?  We still have a, uh, guest of _honor_ , Fordsy, and while you might find him as forgettable as you've always have... I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that this time, they might just SEAR themselves into your memory!"

The ground rumbled, shaking loose pieces of material from the walls and making the neon lights flicker.  Bill tensed in what Ford had come to recognize as gleeful anticipation, and he felt a flicker of fear.  He had never done particularly well in situations Bill felt excited about.  

Something staggered around the corner, its form pulsating and writhing in a particularly nauseating kind of way as it inched forward.  It reared up thunderously at the sight of Bill, looking, despite lacking a face or any anatomy at all comparable to that of a human's, furious beyond all measure _._

"Hey there, Six-Sights!"  Bill crowed, obviously enjoying every word.  "Look what _I've_ got!"

For a moment, no one seemed to move.

Ford dangled, Bill's two fingers holding him by the collar of his jacket.  He stared blearily at the creature before him.  

And the words would not come.   

The thing - _a memory of Mabel's disapproving look_ \- the _entity_ stopped in its tracks, apparently unwilling to get any closer at the sight of Ford.  

 _His_ tracks, if the kids had been telling the truth - and why wouldn't they? - and what he was seeing was actually, somehow, his brother.

It looked back at him, green lights glinting.   Despite being a reality-warping monster with no facial features or any conventional physical form, it looked terrified.

"FORDSY, MEET STANLEY PINES!  Or, what's left of him!"  

Dipper and Mabel had explained, but clearly they had not explained everything.  "What's - left of?"  Ford repeated dumbly, and immediately wished he didn't.  It was obvious bait, one that would lead to nowhere good and sane.  Just like every other piece of information Bill had so enjoyed throwing out.

Just as expected, Bill's single eye glinted in excitement.  "Why, GOOD ON YOU to ask!  I would tell our friend here to explain, but it looks like they're a little beyond the capacity for human speech right now.  Right, Six-Sights?"

There was a piercing kind of noise, something like static and nails scratching on the chalkboard mixed into one.  It grated, not just on Ford's ears but on something at the core of him.  It sounded wrong, that was the only real description he could give.  Every part of him recoiled and for a moment he thrashed in mid-air, covering his ears - but it wasn't just sound, was it, because he could feel it vibrating in his bones, as if some part of him was being shaken apart into its component molecules, and Ford _screamed_.

And just like that, the sound stopped.  

Ford went limp, panting as if he had just ran a marathon.  He let his hands drop, and his mouth went dry when he saw vivid smears of red on the palms of his hands with which he had been covering his ears.  

He held one hand to his hammering heart, gasping for breath, and felt the faint crumple of paper.  

"WHOO!  That was a _rush_ !  Though, you gotta be more careful about that, ol' pal, not if you want to keep Sixer here with unpopped eardrums and some semblance of sanity!"  Bill sighed dramatically.  "So this is it, huh?  Me, tell Fordsy the tragic story of what exactly happened to his dear idiot brother all those years ago?  Well, if I _must_."

This was something Ford knew on many different levels that he did not want to hear.  Bill was telling him this for a reason that was no good for him, and by extension, no good for the dimension in general.  But... looking at the creature that was supposedly his brother, he had to admit that he wanted - _needed_ answers that he would not get anywhere else.  

It was hard to form thoughts.  He tried to focus his attention on the physical - the rub of fabric against his wrists and neck, the feeling of his own breath blowing ragged through his teeth, the insignificant significance of the thing he held scrunched up and hidden in his hand.  

"Fine, Bill."  The words hurt to say.  "Say it.  Whatever it is that you are clearly itching to say."  

The demon practically preened himself.  "Well, Six-Sights, how about it?  How can ya expect me to say no to that, huh?  After all, I've always been a sucker for a willing audience!"

He brought Ford close to his eye, then closer still.  "Have ya seen anything like our mutual friend here, Stanford?" Bill asked, gesturing with his other hand to the vague amorphous cloud of _stuff_ that seemed to freeze up at the attention.  "Listened in onto any Time Police transmissions?  Joined a doomsday cult or three?"

"...No," Ford said flatly.  "No, I really can't say I have."

"Geez, you'd think that with thirty years on your freakish hands, you would spend some of them SEEING THE SIGHTS!  HANGING WITH THE LOCALS!  But I guess I should've known that a boring old nerd like you would wanna, ha, _stay outta trouble._ "  Bill sighed dramatically.  "This, Fordsy, is what those of us in the _know_ like to call, the **MONSTER AT THE END OF THE BOOK**."

At the blank stare Ford gave him, the demon rolled his one big eye in exasperation.  "I can't take you anywhere, Stanford!  Get yourself _some_ culture, won't you?  Y'know," he drew the word out into a whine, "the thing that's there waiting after the last page is turned - when the game's over, the story's done, and dun dun _dun,_ here comes the void!"

"...Something like entropy?"  Ford tried.  "The - eventual heat death of the universe?"

Bill shrugged.  " Leave it to _you_ to come up with the most boring way of putting it, but close enough!  With so many things going on in this universe on purpose and making sense, there has to be _some_ thing out there to balance it all out.  Something a bit messy, a bit chaotic, a bit WEIRD.  The way you humans like to put it, it'll  kill everything off e _ventually_ . And that's fine for you mortals, not like any of ya are gonna live to see it!  But the truth is, Fordsy, you can't have all of that out there and just expect it to wait its turn.  Disorder is something that _spreads_ , even when it’s all want and no thought.  And strange things happen out there on the edges of the multiverse, _that_ you know."

For a moment, he can't hide his disbelief.  "You're saying this is the - anthropomorphic personification of _chaos itself_?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go _that_ far.  On this kind of existential scale, there is no such thing as _the_ anything.  Humans can't wrap their minds around the truth anyways!   Just," Bill waved with his other hand, "a huge, hulking mass of detached instinct to break down the existing order of the universe into its component parts!  Guess you guys would call them a devourer of worlds, huh?"

Ford had been manipulated by Bill far too many times not to see where this was going.  In fact, this wasn't even _subtle_.

"Nice try, Bill," he said loudly, unable to keep the distaste out of his voice.  "It's obvious that you're trying to coerce me into choosing a side here.  But I am fully aware that _that_ is my brother, and between you and him... that really is no question at all."

Even if Stanley looked nothing like he should.  Even if he wasn't sure if that was Stanley or not.  The kids trusted them, whatever or whoever it was, and for now... that was enough.

Bill narrowed his eye.  It suddenly became very difficult to keep talking.

Ford kept going anyways.  "While I understand that you have a low estimation of my intelligence," he said frostily, "I would think even _you_ would realize that I would trust the members of my family over any of your lies."

"Pine Tree and Shooting Star decided to spoil the game early, didn't they," the demon said flatly.  "Ruining my fun like _usual_ ."  A thread of excitement entered his voice.  "But oh, I can _work_ with this."

Ford blinked.  "You're not making any kind of sense."

"Sense!  Yes, let's talk about _sense_ , Sixer!  Why don't ya tell me, how does it make _sense_ that your 'brother' looks like _that_?"

"There was - an accident," he said slowly, unwilling to admit that no, Dipper and Mabel had not mentioned that part.

"An accident.  An _accident!_ "  Bill shrieked in laughter.  "Now _that's_ a way of puttin' it!  See, old buddy, old pal, I'll tell you a _secret_ .  The whole REASON Six-Sights over there isn't halfway through eating up your known universe is because dimensions like yours don't _like_ it when things like them try to wriggle in.  They want to stay the way they are, set amount of existence for a set amount of space!"

The volume of Bill's voice lowered, and Ford had a nasty suspicion that it was his attempt at being dramatic.

"The only way to get in here _physically_ is to take the place of something that's supposed to be here.  Hollow them out, and step right _in_ ."   The demon's voice was barely audible now, right by Ford's ear.  "And here's another secret, _just_ 'cause I'm a nice guy!"

"See... the first thing Six-Sights ate up in this dimension was the poor _sucker_ who invited him in."

"No," Ford said immediately.

"They've been wearing _that_ skin for the past thirty years," Bill continued, like he hadn't said anything at all.  "Lying low.  Biding their _time_."    

Despite himself, he turned to look at - _them_.  They stared back at him, motionless, not even trying to - defend themselves?  Prove their - his - identity?  Ford wasn't sure, and it seemed for a moment that they weren't either.

Slowly, carefully, he unclenched his fist and let the thing he held in his hand fall.  He did not look at it go.

Bill prodded at him obliviously.  "You gonna say something, Sixer?  Gonna complain that I'm not making sense again?  You _know_ what people would do when they're desperate.  Heck, pal, you know better than anyone else out there _exactly_ how low your brother would go when he's _real_ desperate."

It was a low blow, one that Ford shouldn't let land.  It did anyways.

"Why are the two of you fighting, then?"  He demanded through gritted teeth.  "Don't you have a common goal?"

"Common _goal_ ?  Fordsy, I'm the GOOD GUY here!"  Bill sounded insulted, and Ford would laugh if the situation wasn't so dire.  "I just wanna have some FUN in this dimension, _that_ guy wants to tear the whole thing down!"

"I trust my niece and nephew."

"Oh, that's RICH!  Haven't ya realized?  Pine Tree and Shooting Star has never even _MET_ Stanley Pines.  Your real brother died years before they were even born!"

Ford did not reply.    

Bill's voice gets lower, quieter, like he's a friend playing confidant.  "You can tell me the truth, Sixer.  Do you _really_ think Stanley is in control over there?  See, personally, I don't think he's even _in_ there anymore.  Our buddy here has been putting up a decent act for thirty years, enough to get one over the heads of those _brats._  But they're _real_ lucky they had to play it up for anyone who actually _knew_ Mister Dearly Departed."

"I know my brother."  There was a certainty there that Ford did not feel.

"You sure do!  And the guy that brought you back - haven't you ever thought that something wasn't _right_ ?  That he did something, _said_ something to ya that your REAL brother never would have?"

_As far as I'm concerned, those kids are the only family I have left._

"...No," he said unconvincingly.              

"Enough of playing pretend - make a choice, Fordsy!  Me, or the thing that wiped your brother from existence!  Shouldn't be a hard decision, right?  Just look at them!"  Bill jabbed a finger.  "You really want those guys out in respectable society?  One slip and there goes the sanity of a small town!  AT LEAST I KNOW HOW TO BE A GENTLEMAN!"

"I," Ford said blankly.  He was stalling, but he didn't know what exactly he was waiting for.  He had no idea if whatever it was would even come.  "I don't -"

**YOU HAD THIS WITH YOU**

\- and, he let out a breath.

That.   _That_ was what he needed.

Bill started at the sound that wasn't, his single eye going alarmingly wide before he spun around, clearly caught between confusion and anger.  

"Whaddya talkin' about, Six-Sights?"  He demanded.  "If you're gonna talk nonsense, at least have the decency to do it in the thirty-sixth dimension!  What's gotten into you, huh?"

 **AFTER ALL THIS TIME,** they rumbled, and there was something increasingly solid about them, how when they grew now they did not recede to their original size.     **YOU HAD THIS WITH YOU**

He knew that they were holding something, somewhere, in one of its many tendrils and appendages.  He wasn't sure how they could see, given the lack of eyes and optical nerves and physicality in general, but he knew that had seen _that_.  Perceived it, scanned it, sensed it, even.

But they knew what it was.  And so did he.    

Their mother has taken the picture on a particularly sunny day that had broiled the two of them bright lobster red, but they had been excited nonetheless on the deck of the ship they had built together.  Of course, approximately five minutes after the memory had been immortalized in colors that would fade to sepia over thirty years, Stanley had lost balance and fell head-first into an ocean that - luckily enough - was deep enough that he got away with just scratches from a few sharp rocks.  A classic Pines twins adventure, back in the day.

When he had moved out to college, months after the last time he had seen his brother, Ma made him hold onto it.  And he had, through dorms and finals and graduation, through the research grant and moving up north, through Fiddleford and Bill and when he had been sent screaming and begging through the open mouth of the portal, he had held onto it then as well.  

He couldn't forget that picture and what it had symbolized for him, for the two of them for so long.  Through life and death and resurrection, and everything that lied between.

He had been banking on the hope that his brother couldn't, either.

"Thirty years wandering the multiverse," Ford said, voice distant to his own years.  "I lost everything I had, dozens of times over.  The clothes I wore, the notes I took.  I realized I had to live with the expectation that everything that held any kind of value to me could be lost forever, at any moment.  But, there was one thing I saved.  Something I knew I could not lose not without losing myself."

There was a long, breathless pause.

**SIXER, YOU REALLY ARE A SENTIMENTAL OLD MAN**

\- and despite not coming from something with vocal cords, despite not being any real kind of sound at all, Ford could hear, _feel_ it end with a familiar choked laugh.

For the first time in decades, hearing that nickname didn't make him flinch.

"Takes one to know one, Stanley," he retorted, smiling helplessly.  

" **_I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS_ ** !" Bill roared, turning an angry neon red, his eye inverting in colors.  He drew himself up and stared Ford down with a look that paralyzed him with its pure vehemence.   " **I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU WOULD BE TOO STUPID TO MAKE THE RIGHT DECISION, STANFORD."**

The demon's grip tightened.  It suddenly became very difficult to breathe.

 **"YOU'RE JUST.  SO.** **_BORING_ ** **."**

**NO**

The world twisted in a dizzy blur of colors.  Existence hiccupped.

Bill went flying.  A full three minutes later, a distant crash could be heard.    

Ford's feet stand on solid ground.  He kneeled down immediately, both hands on the ground as he gasped for air with tears in his eyes.  He had never quite understood why sailors kissed the ground after their voyages, but in this moment, he felt more kinship with them than with Tesla himself.

**YOU**

**YOU ALRIGHT THERE?**

"Better than I've been in a very long time," Ford said honestly and looked up, up, and further up still.  He blinked.

**GOOD**

"I think," he said delicately, "we need to have a conversation after all of this is over."

Ford could feel the flat disbelief like a physical presence.   **YOU THINK?**

"Will we?"  He asked immediately, trying to keep his voice steady.  Because it wasn't about the conversation, not really.

It was about the after.

**YES**

And then, even more certain, **YES WE WILL**

Distantly, Ford could hear the sound of a furious scream.  It was getting louder.

They both knew what there was left to do.  Still, there was one last thing he had left to say.

Ford cleared his throat.  "Stanley?

**YEAH?**

He considered his words carefully.  There would never be another chance to say what he wanted to say now.

"Give him a left hook for me. One that he'll remember until the end of time."

Ford could practically see the shit-eating grin on his brother's face.

**GLADLY**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ask any questions that you have (also feel free to throw anything at me, it feels Strange that this is over)
> 
> (also, the reason bill was so intent on turning ford against stan isn't just for fun, though a large part of it definitely is - if ford had rejected stan then, stan would have never gotten his brother back. aka the deal falls through, bill wins, the universe goes Kaboom)
> 
> bill is a sesame street fan sorry I don't make the rules (but hey considering how the actual book goes, bill's more right than he knows)

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of played with technicalities to make this fic work (read: shameless self-indulgence) but here are some things that might be a bit more subtle in the text:
> 
> \- stan-sights is what he thinks he is, for the most part, except 'form that depends on mindset' doesn't work well with 'crippling imposter syndrome.' that's why the group hug helps, but it's still not a permanent solution.
> 
> \- soos helped 1) stan get back to the Shack because he's pretty immune to 'horrors beyond human comprehension' on account of being soos (also he's seen too much of stan already to be grossed out) and 2) go out to find dipper + mabel
> 
> \- answer to dipper's question about the Shack's security system: yes it's dumb, but it's backed up by the eldritch abomination living upstairs, so not AS dumb
> 
> coming next chapter: 2017 Ford Escape™


End file.
